Over Memorial Day I traded my peony gardens in full bloom for a neighborhood full of magnolias. Our destination was Nashville, Tennessee. My little sister flew south solitary as a black bird as soon as she was finished with High school and started making music in Music City.
Her new home--Hillsboro Village-- has been our favorite getaway since. Beautiful craftsman bungalows with tidy little front yards line the streets, and the village is full of friendly folks, fun boutiques, and famous landmarks like the historic Belcourt theatre and the Pancake Pantry. The vibe is laid back, the weather is always better than what we have here, and you just can't beat the southern hospitality--especially when it means a free place to crash.
On this trip we happened to be throwing a housewarming of sorts for Regan's new apartment. I'm sure our piles of damp shoes near the door, mattresses shoved into every corner, and toys littering the floor all weekend did much to break that house right in!
My sister's style is bohemian, natural, effortless. I think she has some kind of gypsy superpowers that allow her to pull items from her closet blindfolded, twirl her fingers through her hair, and walk out the door looking like a primeval forest sprite. Besides the natural curls and waif-like figure, I have discovered a couple of her secrets: scarves
and boots.
The scarf thing I can almost pull off. The boots have yet to be proven, but I'm feelin' like I need to git me some.
Though we stayed for less than three days, we packed a lot of R&R in. My favorite moments were lunch with my hubby at Noshville Deli, a nap, and a trip to Cheekwood Gardens to see a Chihuly exhibit! Check it out!!:
We had planned on traveling up to Meijer gardens in MI this summer to see the exhibit there, but were thrilled when we found out we could catch one here!
After a few days of so much excitement, inspiration and money blowing, our responsibilities and roots called us home.
It's always so hard saying good bye, leaving little sister all alone in the big city to make her own way.
This time my parents stayed on a little longer, and it was easier to let go in the parking lot of the good ol' Cracker Barrell.
It was leaving that quiet, careless little space in time called "vacation" that was the biggest bummer. As we drove north, I wondered if I really would miss home if we decided to uproot and move south for good--enjoy the mild weather, the art and culture of a bigger city. But then the smoky mountains rolled down into flat green expanses of corn, and the hazy evening sun began to bathe the horizon in that peach fuzz glow that lights everything up like a pair of rose-tinted glasses. Harry the Dirty Dog welcomed us with a mischievous smile as we pulled into the driveway of the little casa we're working so hard to make a home, and I knew it wasn't just responsibility and roots pulling us here. It was our heartstrings too.
